The Ladies Delight | Page 5

chief Devil be of Sin;?No more shall Ugliness be his Disgrace,?His Head mends all the Frailties of his Face;?When Masques and Balls to their Conclusion drew,?To this his last Resort the Hero flew;?So by degrees the Errant Knights of old?To Glory rose, and by Degrees grew bold;?A while content the common Road they trod,?'Till some great Act at last confess the God.
Now Painters work,--and dine, that starv'd before,?And Tallymen supply each needy Whore--?Fam'd Covent-Garden droops with mournful Look,?Nor can St. James's her great Rival brook:?Each Duck and D----ss, quacks to different Tunes,?One claps her Wings for Love, the other swoons;?Each Vintner storms and swears he is undone,?Vollies of Oaths speak loud the Drawer's Moan;?Porter who us'd to search for needful Girls,?Now sucks his Fingers, or his Apron twirls,?Bemoans his Loss of Business, and with Sighs,?In Box imprison'd lays the useless Dice.
Spring-Garden now alone does all invite?The Cit, the Wit, the Rake, the Fool, the Knight:?No Lady, that can pawn her Coat or Gown,?Will rest 'till she has laid the Money down:?Each Clerk will to the Joints his Fingers work,?And Counsellors find out some modern Querk,?To raise the Guinea, and to see the Grot,?And 'mongst the Belles_ to slant it at _Ridolt.
Here Seamstresses and Maids together vie,?And the spruce 'Prentice shines in Sword and Tye:?Bandy'd in Lace the City Dame appears,?Her Hair genteelly frizzled round her Ears;?Her Gown with Tyrian Dyes most richly stain'd,?Glitt'ring with Orient Pearl from Orphans gain'd.
My Lord, to oblige his Spouse, takes Tickets three,?Crys, one's for you my Love, and one for me,?The third dispose as you shall best adjudge,?Shew where you're pleas'd, and where you owe a Grudge:?Madam_ elate, thinks she'll be kind to _Betty,?To hide the Slips she made with Spark i'th' City:?But Stallion Tom, who well knew how to scold,?And by his Mistress's Favour grown too bold,?Swears if he has it not, he will reveal,?And to his Master tell a dismal Tale;?Madam, reluctant, gives him up the Paper;?He at her Folly laughs, and cuts a Caper.
Sylvia, a Lady, kept by twenty Beaux,?Who never yet could brook the Marriage Noose,?By each a Ticket offer'd, scorns 'em all,?In hopes some Fool at last will Victim fall,?And, kindly offer Treat and Ticket too,?Which to her Charms she thinks most justly due;?At last a brisk young Templar full of Fire,?Whom Writs with Money, Wine with Love inspire,?Address'd the Dame, she yeilds his glowing Charms,?And for a Ticket flies into his Arms:
So every dapper Fop_ and _brawny Rake?Will Tickets to their Ladies Presents make;?To Sin, the only certain Dedication,?To every gentle Mistress in the Nation,?From Suburb Whore, to ranting Dame of Fashion;?For none's so niece as to refuse the Suit,?But grasps the Tree tho' 'tis forbidden Fruit.
Near_ where _the Thames in pleasant Windings runs,?Near where the famous Glass-house fiercely burns,?(Which to the Love of poor desponding Swains,?An Emblem terrible, but just retains.)?Near_ where fam'd _Vaux was to have fled,?With lighted Match, soon as he'd done the Deed;?Whence some pretend to say by second Sight,?That it foreshew'd the Fate attends this Night,?'Cause here the Fair will many Matches light.
Spring-Gardens lie shaded with verdant Trees,?That nod their reverend Heads at every Breeze;?Embassadors like Turks hence send Express,?And Ministers of State like Devils dress--
Should some wild Indian see the various Scene,?He'd swear all Nations of the Earth do here convene,?And take for quite reverse this medley Farce,?Think Strumpers Saints, or catstick'd Beau a Mars.
But now the Dancers nimble Feet go round,?And with just Measures beat the passive Ground,?Each one inclines to different Delights--?Musick the Fair, Sweetmeats the Beau invite;?The Templar wisely does his Care enroll,?Pockets the Pheasant, and eats up the Fowls?Nor will return to join the giddy Rout,?'Till he has eat and drank his Guinea out.
Now Dancing fires the Nymph to softer Joys;?The Musick's dull, the Wine and Sweetmeat cloys;?Strephon streight takes the Hint, withdraws a-while,?By soft Endearments does her Grief beguile;?Soon they return more vig'rous than before,?Do what they will, she cannot be a Whore.
For Mahomet may dream of heavenly Stews,?Where Virgin Rose, soon as it's lost, renews,?And shake with every Breath of Air serene,?As trembling for the Rapes they've daily seen;?When if those past can shake their Height profound,?Ridotto sure will fell them to the Ground;?Here Art to Nature join'd makes it compleat,?And Pyramids and Trees together meet;?Statues amidst the thickest Grove arise,?And lofty Columns tow'ring to the Skies;?Then next an Obelisk its Shade displays,?And rustic Rockwork fills each empty Space;?Each joins to make it noble, and excells?Beaufets for Food, Grotto's for something else.
But hark! the Doors on jarring Hinges turn,?All enter in, and the blest Scene's begun;?A thousand Lights their livid Flames display,?Pour forth their Blaze, and form a mimick Day:?Sudden a motley Mixture fills the Place,?And Footmen shine as lordly as his Grace;?To see the sad Effect and Power of Change,?Ladies turn'd Men, in Breeches freely range:?Young